


o, discordia

by primreceded



Category: No Fandom
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-04-11
Updated: 2010-04-11
Packaged: 2017-11-16 00:20:50
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 15,426
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/533404
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/primreceded/pseuds/primreceded





	1. Chapter 1

Title: o, discordia  
Rating: NC17  
Fandom: Supernatural/The Dark Tower  
Disclaimer: All Supernatural characters, recognizable settings and or themes belong to Eric Kripke, the CW, and others. All The Dark Tower characters, recognizable settings and or themes belong to Stephen King. I am in no way earning money or other profit from this fanfic.  
Char/Pair: Sam/OMC, Dean/Sam, implied Sam/Ruby + an OOC-except-not Randall Flagg  
Prompt: None  
Spoilers: Season 4 of Supernatural, The Dark Tower series  
Warnings: Slash/het, language, violence  
W/C: 15,253

_"Suppose that all worlds, all universes, met at a single nexus, a single pylon, a Tower. And within it, a stairway, perhaps rising to the Godhead itself. Would you dare climb to the top, gunslinger?"_

[THEN]  
Another beam snaps before they can get to it and Dean curses Sam out by the side of the road after they burn the corpse. Sam’s jacket smells like cooked rabbit and it makes his stomach roll, but he ignores it in favor of watching the fire that sparks in Dean‘s eyes. He bites his tongue and tries not to flare up at Dean because he knows his brother is right, but he’s also had more important things to worry about over the summer than whether the worlds end. His world ended.

“Hey,” Dean says, snaps his fingers in Sam’s face. “Are you even listening to me?”

Sam dodges the hand in front of him, pushes it away, “What’d you want me to do, Dean? You were dead, I was trying to find a way to bring you back.”

“I wanted you to do your _job_ , Sam. We’ve been over this already. Instead you were off playing Susie Homemaker with a fucking _demon_.” Dean slams his way back into the car, sits staring angrily out of the windshield until Sam slides in next to him with a sigh. Then Dean’s jerking the car into drive and pulling back out to zoom along the empty highway.

They don’t talk much after that. Dean speeds along the California coastline and all the way up to Washington, stops only when he has to piss or gas up the car, waits only long enough to see if Sam‘s going to make a move (to the bathroom or to run away?) before pulling back out onto the road. He swings through a McDonald’s for lunch and doesn’t ask Sam what he wants, tosses him a sack full of cheeseburgers and tells him to suck it up before Sam can voice any complaints.

Sam doesn’t even start to open his mouth.

They stop for the night in some dive, Dean tosses his bag onto the bed before pulling out clean boxers and a tee shirt, before stomping into the bathroom to shower. The pipes clank and hiss and the noise covers Sam’s sigh as he sits on the edge of his bed.

Dean is pissed and what else is new these days? Angry at Sam for one reason or another, angry at the angels and God, too, most like. Sam can’t help what they do, they’ve got their agenda they’re keeping Top Secret, even from the boy they saved. But Sam can try and make it up to Dean for his own wrong-doings, whatever his failings happen to and will be.

He flips open his phone, checks his voicemail and gets nothing but the automated tinny voice of a computer asking if he would like to change his personal options. And yes, he would.

Dean comes out of the bathroom not ten minutes later, and Sam watches as he putters around preparing for the night. The ache in his chest is still there, even though Dean’s been back for a while now, and watching Dean going through his nightly routine just makes it worse.

He wants to reach out and grab Dean by the wrist, stop him, just touch him; reassure himself that Dean is actually there and it isn’t Tuesday or the end of a year and he’ll wake up tomorrow with his big brother lying next to him. He wants to touch Dean but they haven’t done that since his brother had gotten back from hell, nothing more than the ‘are you okay’ pats after hunts anyway, and he doesn’t think Dean would want that right now.

Sam sighs again before getting up from where he sits, gives up on speaking to Dean for the rest of the night. He gets his own clothes from his duffel and heads to the bathroom, surprised to find warm water left when he turns on the shower. He doesn’t close the door all the way behind him, leaves it open slightly so that he can hear.

He strips and steps under the spray, hisses as the hot water hits his skin. He reddens quickly under the heat, but he doesn’t adjust the temperature. There’s a lot that he needs to scrub from his skin. The hot water helps to loosen his muscles, too, and he turns to let it hit his back, head bracketed in his arms where they lean against the tiled wall.

He’s never felt so exhausted, wants to curl up into a bed and sleep for a month, but he knows he can’t. Even with Dean back _Dean’s back!_ there’s too much that needs to be done. It had been one hell of a goddamn week and it’s not over yet, will never _be_ over. He feels himself itching for something he can’t have anymore; Ruby dead courtesy of Dean almost as soon as he was topside again. Didn’t even stick around to make sure the fire went out after he torched the body, just hopped back into the car and glared at Sam as he watched the flames get smaller and smaller in the side view mirror.

It’s not the demon that he cares about though, but what she had given him. He doesn’t know if he can make it without it. Doesn’t know if he can ever explain it all to Dean, what it was like. If he has that right. Doesn’t know if he’s strong enough anymore to be the hero, to be the brother that he knows Dean deserves.

In frustration he slams a fist against the shower wall, doesn’t even notice the pain. He tries to clear his head, just wants to stop _thinking_ for a little while. He lets his head loll on his folded arms while the now tepid water sluices down his back, easing the tension between his shoulder blades.

From where he stands he can’t see anything in the motel room other than the brown carpet, flickers from the television on the paneling. Dean’s probably stretched out on the bed, staring at the T.V. Scrambled porn, _because I don’t pay for sex, Sam_ , watching some chick bounce on a dick while the guy lays there smug and plays with her breasts. Everything about it fake. Neither of them looking like anything Dean would go for. Neither of them looking anything like Dean. Mostly ever for entertainment value and only sometimes for getting off.

Sam wonders if Dean’s interested now. If his cock has filled and lengthened. Maybe he‘s touching himself or maybe he’s waiting. Hand resting on the waistband of his boxers, fabric rubbing and not creating enough friction, frustration this side of amazing. Sam can still taste him. Knows the pressure of his brother on his tongue and the sounds he makes and they still, even in a memory, they still shoot straight to his cock and make him harden.

And he knows he’s wrong, for thinking of Dean like this, at a time like this, when he’s been through _all of this_ but he can’t help it. It’s Dean and he’s beautiful and still Sam’s, even if now he doesn’t want to be. And Sam’s had this reaction to his brother for a long time, there’s no way he could just turn it off. When he was gone and now that he’s back, it won’t change. He squeezes the base of his dick and bites off the groan that wants to escape. Dean can’t hear.

He jacks off in silence, biting into the arm still propped up against the shower wall. Thinking about Dean, of going out into the motel room and stretching along side his brother, soaking the sheets with shower water and sweat, their come.

When he climaxes it’s quiet and painful. Empty.

He washes quickly, scrubbing until he’s red and then he turns the water off, steps out and wraps a towel around his waist. The motel room is dark through the bathroom door and he suddenly feels anxious. Wonders if Dean heard him, if he enjoyed the movie. If maybe Hell has ruined his brother and turned him off sex for good.

Sam swipes away the fog from the mirror and stares at himself, someone he doesn’t recognize anymore. The hunts are catching up to him, age on his heals and his eyes are rimmed in black _but his eyes aren’t completely black_ and sometimes he doesn’t recognize himself. Sometimes he sees his father and all of those times he feels sick. Wants to put his fist through the looking glass until there’s nothing left.

He dries off, in no real hurry to go stare into the dark. He knows Dean will be pretending to sleep and Sam doesn’t want to face the silence he knows will greet him when he leaves the bathroom. But he can’t stay in there all night, so he slips into his boxers, pulls on his tee shirt and steps into the room. Dean’s back is facing towards Sam’s bed, illuminated by the street light coming in through the curtain and Sam can see how tense he is. He’s not asleep, holding himself so still Sam wonders if he’s even breathing.

He doesn’t stop on his way to his own bed, doesn’t even look over. When he sits, the bed protests his weight and it sounds so loud in the room and Sam’s breath catches. He wants to scream. He’s not alone anymore but the silence is killing him and he just needs Dean.

“I said I was sorry, Dean.”

He’s barely above a whisper and he doesn’t think Dean heard him, doesn’t think Dean will even acknowledge that he said anything if he did hear him. He stares at his feet, the dirty carpet. He needs Dean so bad.

“You’re always sorry, Sammy.” Dean says into the room. And he doesn’t sound angry anymore, but he’s got the defeated tone in his voice that he had before he went to hell and Sam thinks maybe he’s going to throw up. He’d rather have Dean screaming at him, face angry and red. Would rather have Dean beating the shit out of him than to ever have to hear him give up again.

“Dean--”

“Go to sleep, Sam,” Dean cuts him off. Says, “It’s okay,” and Sam sighs. Relieved. It’s not okay, not really, not yet and not by a long shot, but they’ll get there and it’s nice to hear that Dean might want that. That Sam can fix it, even though he doesn‘t know how to do that yet. They can work on it.

Sam nods to himself and lays down on his side facing Dean. Sleep has evaded him for a long time but he thinks maybe now, on the right path, maybe he’ll be able to rest. Dean shifts, turns over to face him and his eyes sparkle green in the dull light. Through heavy lids Sam watches him, watches him whisper words that Sam can’t make out in the darkness of the room, in the heaviness of sleep around him. He thinks maybe Dean is praying but he can’t be sure, can’t ask.

Sam whispers Amen.

Dean closes his eyes and Sam doesn’t want to stop looking at his brother, fear trying to bubble up into his throat but he forces it down, lets it sit and simmer instead of taking him over. He shuts his eyes too, and for the first time in what’s been too long a time Sam sleeps a dreamless sleep.

They’ll get there.

 

Dean turns his face up to the sun a lot these days. Sam learned not to comment on it after the first time, when Dean blushed and stuttered, pained expression on his face after his tough guy act of making it seem like no big deal. Now Sam lets him do his thing, pretends like he’s not paying any attention. Most of the time.

There are moments though, when there are other people around and Sam can be inconspicuous, hide behind the soccer mom van or blend in with the group of guys on the corner. Or like now, when he stands in line to pay for the gas Dean is pumping, Sam watches him from the store window. It leaves an aching in his chest, Dean soaking up the sunlight like it’ll be the last time. It reminds Sam of everything he failed to do.

Sam gets back to the car as Dean’s screwing the gas cap on and he slides into the passenger side. He offers Dean the Coke and chips he asked for and his brother grunts his thanks when he slides in next to him. It’s been a quite ride through Washington, but not uncomfortable, finally. Sam’s far from relaxed but the air inside the Impala isn’t so stifling. Dean says actual words to him now, even if there are things that Dean just won’t talk about. Ruby’s not to be brought up and the last time Sam asked Dean about hell his brother had slammed him against the door of the motel they’d been staying in, and, well, sometimes Sam does know when to stop.

“How much further?” Dean asks.

Joshua had called them up, out of the blue and took them by surprise, a pleasant one sure, but it was a voice Sam had never thought he’d hear again. He’d said that he had a tip, go to Adel and meet with a guy he knows _and stop this shit before it’s too late_. Sam thanked him and relayed the message to Dean and they were in the car before Sam could flip his phone closed. That was yesterday.

“’Bout a half hour,” Sam says, traces the road on the map spread out over his thighs. Outside the car is flatlands, plush, green fields that spreads out in front of them, picture postcard perfect. It kind of makes Sam uneasy.

Sam folds up the map, shoves it back into the glove compartment and Dean nods, mumbles _finally_ and flicks on the radio. It’s loud and obnoxious but Dean’s singing along under his breath and that’s _nice_ so Sam keeps his mouth shut, lets his lips twitch up in a small smile. Dean is turning back to his old self slowly but surely, and Sam will be damned if he does anything to compromise that.

Adel is flat and green, wetlands and ranches. The main street is dirt and kicks up dust around the Impala. There’s a post office, a gas station and a small general store on the corner. Dean pulls up in front of the store before hopping out of the car and ducking inside, comes back only a few seconds later.

Victor Merrill’s place sit’s two miles on the outskirts of Adel. Which, Adel is pretty much nothing _but_ outskirts, so it’s a feat. Sam can still see the little town from Victor’s porch as he waits for the man to answer the door.

Dean knocks again after a moment of nothing before he turns to Sam with narrowed eyes. “You hear that?” He asks and Sam stops to listen, holding his breath.

“Hear what?”

“It sounds like a high humming noise, like a weeeeeoo,” Dean imitates the noise and Sam tries not to laugh at the face he’s pulling.

“Sorry, I don’t hear anything.”

“You will in a minute.”

They both whirl around to see the newcomer. Young guy about Dean's age, short with cropped dark hair and brown eyes. He’s got a kind face, small dimple in one corner when he smiles up at them. Sam’s heart speeds up a little, maybe. He's staring up at Sam and Dean unconcerned, like it's every day two strangers show up on his doorstep. And who knows, maybe it is.

"Are you Victor?" Dean asks, stepping off the porch and heading for the guy, who nods, says _Call me Vic_. "I'm Dean and this is my brother Sam," Dean jerks a thumb over his shoulder to indicate Sam.

Victor's eyes flash over to and lock on Sam and Sam would swear the guy gives him a once-over, eyes lingering. Nothing to be concerned about, just sizing him up Sam's sure. Hadn't he just been doing the same?

"What can I do for you guys?"

"We're friends of Joshua's, he said you might have some information for us?" Dean asks, speaks slow like maybe the guy is too. Sam doesn't think so, though, figures the guy just doesn't seem too concerned.

"Right, I remember. How's he doing by the way?"

Sam can see Dean is starting to get irritated so he finally steps down next to his brother and takes Victor's hand. Sam's own dwarf's the other man's and maybe Sam holds it a little longer than he really ought to once they get the shaking out of the way. He realizes what he's done though, drops it fast and wipes his palm on his jeans.

"He's doing fine, really. But listen, there's some things we were wondering you could give us some information on? There are these... creatures, guardians? There's something controlling them, killing them off and we really need to find a way to stop that from happening or --"

"Or the worlds will collapse, yeah I know."

Merrill's easy going nature about the whole thing has Dean tensing up in frustration and Sam just stares at the guy in wonder. It's the end of the world and this guy is just standing there like it's no big deal, like he's got a couple of old buddies standing in his yard shooting the shit.

"And you're not bothered by that?" Dean asks, spitfire anger in his voice, bubbling just below the surface.

"Nah," Victor says. "I got faith."

Dean snorts at him, Sam gives him a small smile and the other man smiles back, wide.

"Well come on, let's go in for a bit and we'll see what I can tell you."

They let him by, follow him up the stairs and into the house. It's small and tidy inside, though very obviously lived in and very obviously inhabited by a guy. There's dirty dishes piled in the sink and a newspaper spread out on the table in the kitchen, coffee cup set next to it like he'd just gotten up to answer the door instead of coming around the side of the house and catching them by surprise. It's homey, and somewhere Sam hasn't let himself think he could ever have in a long time.

"Coffee?" Victor asks, motioning to the chairs around the small kitchen table. Sam declines but Dean accepts as they sit and Victor's quiet while he pours two cups, until he sets one down in front of Dean and takes his own chair.

“So,” Vic says after a moment of awkward silence. “What can I do for you boys?”

Sam shoots Dean a look, sees his brother glaring at the other man at being called a boy and he jumps in before Dean can say something offensive. Or he punches him.

"Joshua, well he didn't really say much just that you might know what's going on, with the guardians being killed off. Last year we met a demon who said they were being controlled by something, we just don't know what yet."

"Where's the demon now?" Vic asks, smiling at Sam over the rim of his coffee cup.

"Well, we killed her."

"Oh, just for fun?"

"No?" Sam asks, slowly, forehead crinkling in confusion. "She was a demon."

Vic nods and Dean clears his throat, leans forward in his seat. Sam can see him white-knuckling the ceramic cup between his hands.

"Look, _Vic_. I don't know if you remember or not, when we were outside? Talking about the end of the world? It's imminent. So maybe you could speed this up a little and tell us what the hell you know so we can stop it."

Victor takes another sip of coffee before putting the cup on the table, before pushing his chair back and standing up. He gives Sam a wink and Sam blushes while Victor turns and starts rummaging through a drawer. He pulls out a couple pairs of furry earmuffs, tosses one to each brother, keeps one for himself.

"The hell are these for?" Dean asks, eying the leopard print like it's going to spring to life and tear his face off.

"Gotta muffle the noise. Don't want you boys going crazy."

Vic puts his earmuffs on and then leaves the kitchen through the backdoor. Sam shrugs at Dean after he leaves, puts his own muffs on and follows Vic outside, Dean close on his heals and grumbling. By the time they get outside Vic is already halfway across his yard and they jog to catch up to him. They walk in silence, Dean scowling the whole way. Then Vic stops abruptly and Sam has to catch himself before he slams into the other man.

"These muffs aren't going to block everything, but no matter what you might hear, don't believe it." He raises an eyebrow, gives them both a stern face and they nod at him. Satisfied he turns and they follow him a few hundred more yards and then they see it.

Sam hears the noise Dean had described on the porch, a high pitched humming sound that makes his teeth hurt and beside him Dean's got his hands over the leopard print earmuffs, a pained expression on his face. The air in front of them, about five feet high and ten feet wide is shimmering like heat on asphalt, like exhaust fumes billowing from a pipe on a semi. Sam's stomach rolls and turns to the side, hacks and spits sour into the green grass. Below the humming Sam can hear the whispers.

Vic stands, unfazed by the whole thing, watching them both. Sam wonders how anyone could get used to this, why they would stick around long enough to want to.

"What is that?” Dean asks, head nodding to the mass in front of them.

"S'a Thinny, boys. Not sure where it leads to, but, I suppose there's another universe in there somewhere."

"Excuse me?"

"Breaks in reality, is what they're called, what my grandfather called it. Some are just there, drive a man mad with the noises they make, the talking. But some, this one, is a transporter." Vic shrugs easy as pie, no big deal.

"You have a portal to another universe in your backyard and you brought us in for coffee and _a chat_? You don't think this information would have been useful say, oh I don't know, before we even got out of the car?"

"I've been on this property my whole life. Folks in town know about it, steer clear 'cept on the nights something comes through that I can‘t handle. I don't usually have to explain this to anyone."

"What does come through?" Sam asks.

Vic squints over at the portal, sucks his teeth in thought. "Sometimes people, sometimes not."

The noise suddenly gets louder and Sam and Dean both press their hands against the side of their heads. The Thinny shimmers harder, noise gets louder and Sam collapses to his knees. Vic rushes over to help him up just as a pair of legs step through the mass. It's weird, like someone appearing out of thin air. Or in this case, some _thing_.

“Sam?”

“Yeah?” Sam's voice is rough, cracks in his throat and he doesn't think anyone else would have heard him but Dean's been attuned to all things Sam since he was born.

“What the fuck is that?”

“I have no idea.”

“Doesn’t matter what it is," Vic says at Sam's side. "Might want to shoot it before it rips your head off.”

Dean has a second of fumbling before he's got his gun out, points it at whatever the hell that is and shoots. The creature falls to the ground dead while the air behind it continues to shimmer. Dean walks over and pokes it where it lies with the heal of his boot. It's large, a little taller than Dean when it was standing, with the body of a man but its head looks to Sam an awfully lot like a warthog.

"Okay, this is really friggin' weird even for us."

Vic snorts, nods. Dean glares over at him but Vic either doesn’t notice or chooses to ignore it. He just pats Sam on his back and turns to start walking back towards his house.

“Let’s go back and have us a sit down,” he calls over his shoulder. Sam and Dean just stare at each other for a minute before they follow along behind him.

 

They're settled in Victor's living room, Sam and Dean on the couch with Victor in an armchair across from them. The room is small like the others and the sofa they're sitting on sags, t.v. in the corner on but muted and it's some type of court show where the judge screams at everyone instead of actually listening to the case. It's humiliating for anyone who actually has any type of judicial knowledge, thank you very much. Sam scowls at the television. Dean's sipping from a flask that Sam has never seen before and has no idea where Dean got it. He's nursing it pretty heavily though and Sam reminds himself to take the keys from Dean before they leave.

"What was that thing?" Dean grits out, fastens the top back onto the silver flask and shoves it into his coat pocket. His voice is hoarse, and he wipes his mouth on the back of his hand.

"A Taheen," Victor says.

"Oh, well of course," Dean snaps and Sam doesn't bother admonishing him. Victor's never-care attitude is starting to grate on Sam's nerves, too.

"You wouldn't mind elaborating a little, would you?" Sam asks, still trying to play good cop but finding it harder as the minutes tick by.

Victor sighs, sits up and scoots forward in his chair before leaning on his elbows. He takes a minute to think over what he's going to say. "Taheen are these human-animal hybrids. They didn't used to come through so much, maybe twice, three times a year but now it's all the time. They don't like people," Victor pauses and stands, starts pacing the room and Sam and Dean sit silently, waiting for him to finish.

"One got away from me once, all the way into town, screeching this horrible sound. Like a bird, but crazy. Tore the face off the postmaster before I could get to it. I don't know how to stop them from coming through, don't suppose there is a way."

He stops pacing and plops back down into the armchair, stares at the brothers.

"You mentioned your grandfather outside? He knew about this?"

"Yeah, this was his place before, then my dad's, now mine. Grampa was a Manni, or at least he always called himself one but I don't think it was ever official. They're kind of like monks, I suppose. My dad used to tell me stories as a kid about how Grampa would sometimes go through the Thinny, how he'd sit outside in front of it and wait for Grampa to come back through. Hoping he'd come back through and not something else in his place. Neither of us ever tried it ourselves. I'm not going to, so I'll tell you now not to ask.

"Property's been in our family for decades, that thing has always been there. Just ripped itself open one day and it won't close. I don't know a lot about it, but I know it's dangerous and I know it's getting worse every second that ticks by."

 

 

“Well that was a shitton of useless,” Dean says when they’re back in the car. Sam really can’t argue so he just nods and starts the engine, turns the Impala around on the dirt patch that serves as Victor’s driveway and heads back towards town.

Vic had pointed them in the direction of a bed and breakfast and Sam aims the car towards it. It doesn‘t take them long to get there, a small one story a few blocks away from the main street. There are flowers planted along the walkway leading up to the front door, clapboard siding, a porch swing and so out of place against the dumpy little town.

The elderly lady at the desk greets them warmly with a smile, slides over a key after Dean pays and they trudge their way to the back of the house with an itinerary and their beat up duffels.

Their room is big enough for two beds and a dresser but not much else. They have their own bathroom, though and that’s a plus as far as Sam is concerned. He always hated the communal showers at Stanford when he still had to live in the dorms, slogging down the hallway in nothing but a towel and a pair of flip-flops. Not that there are many guests there with them. Or any.

Dean drops his bag onto one of the beds, follows it down, lays with his feet still planted firmly on the floor, one arm slung over his eyes. There’s a patch of skin showing from where his shirt has ridden up and Sam does not stare at it. Really.

“Now what?” Dean asks.

Sam shrugs out of his jacket, tosses it onto the other bed and sits next to Dean. His weight makes his brother roll towards him a little bit, their thighs pressing warmly against each other. It kind of makes Sam want a little, a lot of what he can’t have.

“I don’t know, Dean,” he says. “Maybe we could ask Castiel?”

“I don’t think so. Not yet.”

Sam stares at the spot of rug between his feet as Dean shifts away from him, as he sits up with his back to Sam.

“What about Ruby? She didn’t say anything about all this?”

“No,” Sam shakes his head, hair falling into his eyes. “We weren’t exactly focusing on this.”

“Want to give me an idea on what exactly you _were_ focusing on?” Dean asks, voice edged with annoyance again.

“No,” Sam says quietly, still looking at the floor. He doesn’t look up again until long after Dean’s gone.

 

 

Sam’s on his bed, laptop in hand and poking around the internet between rounds of Spider Solitaire when Dean finally shuffles back into their room a few hours later. When Dean stumbles back into their room. Sam snorts disbelieving, angry.

“What?” Dean snaps at him, eyes glassy in the dim lighting.

“How did you manage to find a bar in this town, Dean?”

Dean shrugs out of his jacket, plops himself down on his own bed and starts unlacing his boots.

“S’in the general store, between the peas and the toilet paper,” Dean says, like it isn’t weird. Sam doesn’t reply, just watches his brother kick off his boots, strip down to his boxers and crawl up to the top of the bed. He notices the wheel cart in the corner and gives Sam a questioning look.

“Got bored,” Sam says with a shrug. “Television only picks up local channels, but there’s a VCR and some movies.”

“Sweet,” Dean says, gets up and starts looking through the beat up VHS tapes stacked on the metal cart. He pops in Tin Star with a grin.

“So while you were gone I found some info on the Manni,” Sam says, looking at Dean looking at the T.V. “Dean?”

“Yeah, I hear you.”

Hears him sure, but Sam’s not completely convinced that Dean’s listening to him. Which pisses him off, really, since Dean’s the one with the attitude, the one who went ape shit because Sam lapsed while his brother was in Hell. And maybe Sam disappointed Dean, it’s nothing new, but he’s being unfairly punished, Dean’s being a hypocrite.

Sam grabs the remote lying next to him, pauses the tape and scowls at Dean’s profile. His brother doesn’t even budge.

“You know what, Dean? I don’t care. I’d be fine with packing up and getting the hell out of here right now, but you’re the one who wanted to come, you’re the one who _bitched_.”

“You want to _walk away_ ,” Dean says and there’s mocking laughter in his voice. “You would, it is what you do best.”

Sam feels his face heat in anger and embarrassment, feels tears prickle at the back of his eyes. “Fine,” he says simply, _fuck you, Dean_ and _how many times am I going to have to apologize_ he doesn’t say at all. He closes his laptop, slips it into the case by the side of his bed and then tosses Dean the remote before turning over, back to Dean. He can feel his brother’s eyes, though, and for the first time in his entire life he doesn‘t want them.

Dean unpauses the tape, flicks out the light and Sam drifts off into a fitful sleep.

 


	2. Chapter 2

 

Sam is scared awake the next morning by a sharp knock on their door. He groans, sits up and scrubs a hand over his face. Dean’s nowhere to be seen. He’s stiff when he gets off the bed, jeans having twisted, embedded themselves in uncomfortable places during the night. When he opens the door, bleary eyed, the proprietor is standing in the hallway, smiling for way too early in the morning.

“Breakfast is on in twenty, dear,” she says before bustling down the hallway and hanging a left towards the kitchen. Sam closes the door, rests his head against it for a moment before gathering up some clean clothes and heading towards the bathroom.

Dean’s in the dining room when Sam makes his way towards the front of the house fifteen minutes later, sitting at the table, nursing some coffee and pretending to skim the two pages of local paper laid out in front of him. He looks up at Sam when he plops down in front of him but he doesn’t say anything. They’re back to _that_ apparently.

Breakfast consists of more food than he’s consumed in he doesn’t remember how long and his stomach hurts by the time he pushes his plate away. Dean had spoken good naturedly with the kind woman who is putting up with them, flirted until she blushed and swatted him on the arm. Charming and just so typically _Dean_ that Sam couldn’t fight the smile even if he wanted to. Makes his chest hurt, too.

Sam helps bring in the dirty dishes when the meal is done, but is ushered out when he tries to help wash them. Dean’s still sitting at the table, but he stands when he sees Sam, jerks his head towards the front door and Sam follows him out.

It’s overcast, warm already for the time of day it is but Sam doesn’t think it’ll get much worse. Dean leans against the Impala, arms folded and eyes narrowed at Sam. Not in a mean way, still makes him squirm though.

“So are you going to tell me about these Manning’s or what?” Dean asks, like there was no argument, like he wasn’t in the wrong and really should apologize.

“It’s Manni, Dean.” Sam squints off into the distance, over Dean’s shoulder, watches an old blue Ford barrel down the main strip, kicking up clouds of dust as it does, as it rounds the corner and disappears.

“Their religion is a bit like an offshoot of Christianity,” he says. “They have the ability to travel through worlds, using some type of magic. From what I can tell they don’t exactly advertise so it’s not going to be as simple to find one as walking into a church. I was thinking about heading back over to Vic’s and seeing if he remembered anything else.”

He chances a look back and Dean and finds his brother staring at him, odd look in his eye and body held stiff.

“You do that,” Dean says, annoyance clearly coloring his voice and Sam really feels like he’s not ever going to win here. “Maybe I’ll ask around a bit, see what the yokals have to say.”

Dean pushes off the car, tosses Sam the keys to the Impala and pushes past him. Stern warning not to stay gone too long tossed over his shoulder, to not even think about going through the Thinny and _if you hurt my car I’ll hurt your face_ before going back inside the bed and breakfast.

 

Vic’s sitting on his porch nursing a beer and he grins, hops to his feet when Sam gets from the car. Sam gives him a small wave and starts over.

“Sam, hey, you’re back.”

“Yeah, well, I was doing a little research earlier and I thought maybe we could talk a bit,” Sam says, small smile playing on his lips. The guy in front of him nods enthusiastically before inviting him inside.

“Want a beer?” Vic asks, screen door slamming behind them as he heads down the hallway to the kitchen. Sam shouts an affirmative as he wanders into the living room, place a little more tidy than the last time that he was there, and he sits on the sagging couch. Vic’s there only seconds later, still grinning, and passing over an unopened beer.

“Thanks,” Sam offers up a small smile, takes a swig from the bottle after he pops the cap. “So, anything weird happen since I was here last?”

“In the last fifteen hours?” Vic asks, smile loosening into a quiet smile that makes Sam flushed. “No, nothing weird.”

“Well, that’s. Good.”

“Where’s your brother?” Vic asks, maybe looking a little eager and definitely looking over Sam’s shoulder when he says it.

“He stayed in town do a little more research. Actually, I was hoping we could maybe go over a few things that I found out, if you have the time?”

“Sure, Sam, sure. Hey, tell me some things about hunting.”

Sam looks startled for a minute, places his beer bottle on the coffee table and clears his throat, looking at Vic in confusion. “Why do you want to know about that?”

Vic shrugs, says “I don’t know, I’ve met some other hunters coming through here, after hearing about the Thinny and it just seems interesting, getting to travel the country and fight monsters. Man, you guys are heroes.”

“There’s nothing glamorous about this life,” Sam says, trying to keep his voice light and free of anger but he doesn’t think it’s working. “We’re not on some T.V. show, man. The monsters are real and people really get hurt, they really _die_ and it’s not fun.”

Vic looks apologetic, brown eyes wide (and maybe showing a little bit of fear) and Sam feels himself deflate, “Look, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to go off on you --”

“No, I shouldn’t have said anything. I should have known there was pain involved, I mean hell, I have eyes,” Vic smiles over at Sam but Sam doesn’t say anything. “Let’s just forget I said anything okay? I’ll answer whatever questions you have, if I can.”

Sam gives a curt nod and Vic grins, dimples flashing as his face lights up. He settles himself on the couch next to Sam, not touching but close enough that Sam can feel his heat and it makes Sam shift self-consciously. It’s been a long time, and the warmth of another person is really distracting.

“Well, I wasn’t able to find a lot but I was hoping you would know a little more about the Manni?”

 

It turns out that Vic really doesn’t remember all that much. Still just a kid when his father died, raised by his grandfather until he was finally old enough to take care of himself. When Vic’s well runs dry they sit in comfortable silence for a bit until Sam finally breaks and tells him a couple of stories about hunting. Nice stories, ones where there isn’t as much death as there usually is, of some poor college kid being forced to slow dance with an alien. Vic’s eyes are wide the entire time and Sam finds himself wishing for things he couldn’t ever have no matter how hard he tried.

The beer flows freely, Vic seems to have a never ending supply. The conversation goes from hunting to Dean to sports that Sam can only smile and nod and not contribute to, to _Dean’s bitchin’ car_ until Sam’s laughing for the first time and having fun for the first time in, God, too damn long. He leans over and sets his latest empty next to the other brown and green bottles cluttering the table, sits back with a smile that doesn’t feel tight. The sky is darkening outside and he really ought to get up and move but he just feels so comfortable.

His eyes are barely drifting shut from the warm buzzing in his belly and the soft, sagging couch beneath him when he feels fingers playing through his hair. He doesn’t flinch or move away because that’s nice, too. He turns to look at Vic through hooded eyes and then they’re mouths are meeting in a crushing kiss.

Vic moans, Sam takes it as an open invitation to slip his tongue into his mouth and fists his hands into Vic’s shirt, hauls him into his lap. He hasn’t let himself be with a man since and Dean started whatever it is between them and it takes him a few seconds to get his bearings. It’s not hard, Vic’s a good looking guy, and there’s muscles under Sam’s fingers as he pushes up Vic’s shirt. He makes quick work of it, pulls it off and throws it somewhere, runs his hands over every inch of skin now available to him. It’s so different than Dean too. There are no scars for Sam’s fingers to trip on as the run over Vic’s body, there are no memories attached to this skin and it makes Sam hungry, leaves him empty.

Vic grinds down in his lap, presses the hard line of his dick into Sam’s hip and Sam shudders at the contact. He suddenly very much wants to be naked and in a bed, says as much, and Vic is sliding off his lap, grabbing his hand and dragging him up the staircase.

Sam doesn’t get a chance to look around the upstairs as he’s quickly pulled into a bedroom and shoved towards the large bed that stands in the middle of the room. He watches as Vic sheds his pants, his boxers and as he climbs onto the bed. Sam’s mouth waters at the sight of Vic’s cock where it lays against his stomach, hand fisted at the base. Vic’s got a leg bent as he slowly jacks himself and it’s not a bad sight at all.

Sam shucks his own clothes as fast as possible before climbing up onto the bed and lying himself over Vic, sliding their dicks together as he kisses the other man.

“You have stuff?” Sam asks, and Vic grunts, turns to fumble in the night stand drawer for condoms and lube. Sam runs his hand down the other man’s side, fingers ghosting over ribs to settle on his hip until he rolls back over.

“It’s been a while,” Vic says, barely above a whisper and with a stain coloring his cheeks that Sam knows isn’t from his arousal.

“Yeah,” Sam replies, sits back on his haunches and uncaps the lube. “Yeah, okay.” It’s been a long time for him too, after all, so he knows.

He squeezes some slick onto his fingers, scoots up so he’s set between Vic’s bent legs. Running one hand along the inside of Vic’s thighs he traces his lubed up fingers along the outside of Vic’s hole before pushing one in. Vic gasps and the sound mingles with the moan that Sam gives. It takes Sam by surprise, he’d forgotten just how hot it was there and the thought of getting inside that heat alone is almost enough to have him coming.

Sam crooks his finger, hits there just right and Vic's' hips come off the sheets. Sam uses his free hand to swat Vic's fingers away, fits his fingers around Vic's cock and uses long slow pulls in time with the finger fucking into his hole. Vic groans encouragements, hands twisting the bedding beneath them as Sam pulls out and replaces with two, scissoring his fingers to stretch the muscle.

He does just enough prep to not make it hurt, jacks the other man just enough to get him on the edge of coming and then he pulls out, off. Slicking up his own cock he slips on the condom, presses forward until the head of his dick is just touching Vic's entrance. He has to steady himself, take a few quick breaths so he doesn't slam home harder than he should, so he doesn't come before he even gets himself all the way inside.

Vic's gazing up at him, eye's lidded and full of lust and Sam leans forward to grab his lips in a kiss before he presses fully inside the other man. It's tight and hotter than he remembers, hotter on his cock than on his fingers and he closes his eyes against it, rests his head against Vic's shoulder and pants heavily into the skin. Vic runs his hand through Sam's hair, fingers twining in the lengths and it's too intimate for Sam, he can't take it, doesn't want there to be any feeling in this. There shouldn't be, this isn't Dean.

Straightening himself up he grabs Vic's wrists and pins them above his head, holds them there with one big paw and a steely hazel gaze as he starts pistoning his hips in and out of Vic's hole. The other man is making breathy gasps, eyes pressed tightly closed and mouth open. Sam knows he's not going to last too much longer. He'd be ashamed but it's been far too long since he's had anything other than his own hand, hasn't even thought about anything other than that in a long time. Not even with Ruby, not after the first. It was too much, too _wrong_ and too good and Sam couldn't allow himself.

He moves Vic's legs up until they're resting on his shoulder and bends forward, one arm helping to keep his balance while his hips move and his free hand goes back to Vic's cock, pulling in a rhythm to match. Vic spills moments later with a loud groan and Sam works him through the aftershocks, come slicking the way, branding his fingers. Sam isn't long after, filling the condom in hot milky bursts.

He stays above Vic for a minute or two, catches his breath and tries not to laugh because he knows it would be hysterical. Their harsh breathing is the only sound in the room, even when Sam pulls out and ties off the condom, after he plops down beside Vic on the bed.

" _Shit_ ," Vic says and Sam can only agree.

Sam can feel his eyes starting to drift shut again as he lays there, bed comfortable and feather soft beneath him. Vic traces idle circles where he's pressed against Sam's side and the touch is irritating but Sam can't be assed to push him away.

"Are you going to stay?"

And Sam's tempted, he really is. Not really in the mood to go back to the room for more of the same from his brother, but Dean's probably already pissed he's kept his car out so late, and they do have work to do.

"Nah, I should go," he sits up and Vic's hand falls away, lands softly on the mattress. Sam scrubs a hand over his face and it wreaks of come, he could stand to take a shower before he goes.

"Oh," Vic sounds sort of resigned, a lot disappointed. Sam turns to look at him over his shoulder and he's on his back, staring up at the ceiling.

"I had a good time, though," Sam replies and it's true. Probably more than he'll ever have again for a long time and he probably owes this man more than a quick fuck for getting him to take his mind off of things for a little while, for allowing him to sit around in his living room and drink all of his beer but that's about as much as Sam actually has to offer.

Vic nods and sits up, rubs a hand up Sam's back to land on his shoulder with a squeeze, says, "Me too, Sam," before standing and starts to retrieve his clothes.

"Before you go, I thought maybe you'd want to go talk to my grandfather."

Sam's head jerks in Vic's direction, watches unbelievably as the other man starts getting dressed.

"You're grandfather is alive?"

"Well yeah," he says it like Sam's the ridiculous one. "He's in a nursing home, about, I don't know, 50 miles from here? A few towns over anyway." He finishes getting dressed and Sam's still sitting on the edge of the bed naked and confused. "I'll call them and tell'em you and Dean will be dropping by. I don't know how much he can tell you though, Sam, he hasn't been himself in a long time."

"Your grandfather is _alive_."

Vic snorts, rolls his eyes at Sam before going towards the desk he's got pushed up beneath the bedroom window.

"Try and keep up there, Sam."

“You’ve really gotta work on this whole withholding information until the end thing,” Sam says as he jumps from the bed and starts pulling his clothes on. He snatches the paper Vic holds out towards him with the address of his grandfather's home on it and stares at it once he's finished dressing. The town sounds familiar, probably one he and Dean drove through on the way into town and he wonders if Joshua knew about the grandfather before sending them here.

Vic clears his throat and draws Sam back to the present. He's standing there, crooked smile on his face and dimpling at him. The goodbye should be awkward but it isn't, Sam doesn't think. He bends down and places a light kiss on Vic's lips, more intimate than anything else they'd done tonight, and Vic lights up, whispers a goodbye. Sam nods before turning and leaving the house, not even bothering to look back. It's just another stop in his rear view that he'll never get back to, no sense in holding on.

 

Dean's not angry when Sam gets back, which comes as a surprise to Sam. He should be worried that his brother isn't bitching him out over the car, but Sam's not going to look a gift horse in the mouth even though he knows that eventually Dean's going to go off, is going to drag up all the old shit that he buried himself to fling back at Sam and it'll hurt then way more than it could now, but he'll cross that when he comes to it.

Dean's lying on the bed, still dressed, legs crossed at the ankles and eying the television. Sam tosses the keys to the Impala onto his stomach and blinks at the muscles shifting beneath Dean's t-shirt.

"Have fun?" Dean asks, and Sam doesn't detect any malice, so he nods.

"Yeah, get this, Vic's grandfather is still alive."

Dean looks over at him finally, eyebrow raised, "No shit?"

"Nope," Sam shakes his head and starts stripping down for his shower. They can't go anywhere tonight, the nursing facility will be closed to visitors until tomorrow so he might as well make the most of the last night they've got and try to get a good night's sleep for once. It'll never happen, but sometimes Sam still finds himself hoping for things.

"Well at least he decided to share before we left town," Dean says and Sam snorts, nods and heads into the bathroom for a quick shower. When he's dry he slips into a pair of boxers, flicks off the light and goes back out into the room. The television is off now, the only light coming from a small lamp on the table between the beds and Dean's on his side facing towards Sam.

"Did you fuck him?"

It's so low, a whisper of breath and Sam barely catches it, anyone else would have missed it but it's Dean so he catches it. It's not mocking and it isn't angry but it constricts something in Sam's chest anyway.

"Yeah," he says, no louder than Dean had been.

He might have imagined the sharp intake of breath coming from his brother's side of the room, but he doubts it.

 

 

The next morning Dean has decided that Sam didn’t say anything when he came out of the bathroom the night before. Which is perfectly fine for Sam, he’s not entirely in the mood for caring and sharing. After breakfast they hand back their room key, pile their belongings into the Impala and head back west.

It isn’t a long trip to Oakwood Park Nursing Home, and Dean chatters on about anything that comes to mind that isn’t important, mostly about the movie he’d been watching before Sam had gotten back. Sam just nods along, having stopped talking when he realized Dean would wince every time he’d open his mouth.

Dean parks and Sam follows him into the building, one story and set on a good number of well manicured acres. There are nurses outside assisting the elderly who are well enough to hang out and Sam smiles politely at an older woman when she waves at him.

The guy behind the front desk looks up, doesn't smile, and Sam offers him their name and who they're there for. He checks the clipboard in front of him, looking bored, before pulling open a drawer on his left and taking out two passes on a lanyard. He hands them over, mumbles out a room number and jerks his thumb behind him. Sam says his thanks while Dean throws him a dirty look.

They make their way down the hallway that's lined with collages of the patients, from holidays or other events, just because the nurses felt like taking pictures and decorating the walls. There's a medicinal smell underneath what Sam assumes is lunch cooking, but it's warm and not clinical and Sam can understand feeling at home when yours is taken from you.

"I swear to God you ever put me in one of these places," Dean grumbles from beside him. Sam doesn't comment.

The room they're looking for is second to last in the North wing and the door is wide open when they get there. It's a private room, only one bed and plenty big enough for one little old person, Sam thinks. Todd Merrill is sitting in a chair in the corner, head bowed.

"Figures he'd die before we got here," Dean says.

"Stop poking him, Dean," Sam hisses and squats to check Merrill's pulse.

“Well, well. If it isn’t the Winchesters.”

Sam and Dean startle, turn toward the newcomer behind them. He’s dressed in dirty jeans and cowboy boots, an old tattered t-shirt that looks way too big on his lithe frame. His long hair is slicked back and it falls limply around his shoulders. Just a regular man, just standing there, but there’s something about him that doesn’t seem right to Sam. Something that makes him want to grab Dean and the poor old bastard behind them and just run. He stands and moves back into position next to his brother.

“Should we know you?” Dean asks, confusion clear, irritation a little more hidden.

“Sure ya should,” the guy says and grins. “But I suppose you wouldn’t. M’names Randall Flagg, but don’t call me Randy.”

“Okay?”

“I heard you boys have a pretty big problem on your hands and I wanted to see if I could maybe offer my services and help you out.”

“Who are you?” Sam asks and Flagg steps further into the room, shoves his hands into his pockets and shrugs his shoulders.

“Doesn’t really matter who I am, Sammy.”

“Okay, then, _what_ are you?”

“Devoted employer, I like to think of myself as a Jack of all trades. And am really pissed off.”

He comes all the way into the room then, sits down on the foot of the empty bed and crosses his arms over his chest while eyeing Sam and Dean.

“You boys are slacking. Normally I would find this type of thing highly entertaining but, you’re hurting my business.”

“And what business is that?”

“I deal in death, kids.” He says it with a grin, proud.

“So why do you care? Every universe in existence _won’t be_ if we don’t stop this, so shouldn’t you be throwing a party somewhere?”

“You think I like this? I mean sure, death, destruction, _making Dean cry_ , it’s what I do,” he says, sighs maybe wistfully.

“Torturing people is fun for you?”

“You tell me, Dean-o,” Flagg pauses, cracks a smile when Dean stays silent. “It’s a way of life, Winchesters. You hunt evil, I poke it with a stick until it’s pissed off. We’re practically one and the same, you guys and me. World ends, I’m left with no joy in my life.”

“So basically what you’re saying is that you have no idea who’s causing this?”

“Sure am sorry about that, too” Flagg says, steamrolls right on over Dean’s _yeah I bet you are_ with, “I think we’re friends now, us three, so I’ll do you a solid.”

“Let me guess, someone else for us to track down?” Dean snarks.

“Well not quite, more a little piece of advice. Find out whoever is doing this or I’ll find _you_ and rip every bone from your body one by one until you’re nothing by a greasy pile of flesh.”

Sam knows it’s not possible for a person to grow in size, but he doesn’t know that what’s before him is really a person so when Flagg is done speaking and is towering over he and Dean, he doesn’t stop to question it. He smiles tightly, grabs Dean by the wrist and drags him away, says _thanks for your time_ over his shoulder as they step back into the hallway and not stopping until the sun is burning down on them.

“Sam, man, we need to get some better contacts.”


	3. o, discordia - Part 3

 

They don’t bother going back to the nursing home, and they don’t bother, as Dean suggests, going back to torch Vic’s house. They’re at a loss again and nothing frustrates Sam more these days than not having a direction.

They leave Washington on the 395, hit Oregon around Noon on a Sunday and decide to stop over for the night in Pendleton before heading East, before heading to Bobby's. There's no traffic and it's a nice day, cool enough to have the windows down, blowing Sam's hair until it's a crazy mess on the top of his head. Dean sings along to the radio, a station that's mostly static but comes in clear every now and again when there's a break in the trees. It would almost be a normal routine drive for them, except these days there's that underlying buzz of _it's the end of the world_ that just won't stop, that clouds even the simplest moments of the day.

Sam's watching the north-eastern part of the state go by in a blur of green when Dean slows the car a bit, bends over and starts rummaging beneath the seat for something, probably a cassette tape or something equally less important. Sam shifts his leg out of the way when Dean pinches his calf, glares down at his brother and nearly bashes his head against the dashboard when they hit something. Dean swears, regains control of the car and pulls it off the side of the road, kicking up gravel that pings against the undercarriage.

"The fuck was that?" Dean throws the car into park and opens the door, steps out onto the empty Oregon highway and Sam follows him, passenger door squeaking against the sound of early crickets in the woods behind them.

"Shit, Dean, what'd you hit?"

There are droplets of blood splattered on the asphalt, they start small and gradually get bigger, turn into a broken trail to the other side of the road.

"Christ, I swear it came out of nowhere," Dean's turning his head in every direction as they make their way across the road. Whatever it was had somehow managed to drag itself so maybe it's not that hurt.

There's a broken heap of a man lying on his side, blood spattered all over his face, nose probably busted. It runs down the side of his head, from his ear and his scalp and mixes with the black of his polo shirt. When Sam averts his eyes from it he can make out little white bits of what are most likely teeth lying in the dirt. The guy is curled in on himself, moaning, arms folded over his ribs.

" _Shit_ ," Dean hisses, running a hand through his hair. Sam's stomach is rolling now, itchy just below the surface and he backs a step, two. "Hey, say somethin' if you can hear me, man."

Dean moves to stand behind the guy, concern written all over his face and Sam should be helping, should be making sure this guy is okay but he just can't get himself to move, all he sees is red and it makes his own blood race with something he doesn't want to feel anymore.

"It's okay, okay? We'll get you some help, just don't move." Dean stops, looks over at Sam questioningly and Sam just gulps at him. What is he supposed to say? He can't help this guy, he can't help anyone.

The guy is mumbling now, Sam can't hear him over the rush in his ears but Dean's leaning closer so he probably can't hear him either. Then the guy surges up, moving too much too well for for a guy who'd just gotten hit by a car and Sam gets a clear shot of the guys black eyes. He grabs a hold of Dean's coat, pulls him down until they're nose to nose. Sam doesn't have time to go back to the car to get his gun, so he stands there useless.

“All hail him, and you will too,” blood dribbles from his mouth, coats his teeth as he grins up at Dean. “He’ll rise and you won’t stop him.”

The demon laughs, a sick gurgling sound as the body he’s in dies from being struck by the Impala. Dean’s got his hands fisted around it’s thin wrists, trying to wrench himself free but the demon clings tight, still grinning, and Sam can see the gaps where the teeth were.

“Who’s rising,” Dean asks, forcefully.

“You know,” the demon sing-songs up at Dean before turning to Sam, “ _You_ know, too. Daddy’s coming, Sammy.”

The demon lets go of Dean then, arms falling uselessly, probably busted and he spits blood into the ground while keeping his eyes on Sam. Sam’s pretty sure that broken sound comes from him as his eyes follow it. Dean falls forward on his knees from the force of being let go so suddenly and he curses.

“Want a taste?” The demon taunts, and Sam closes his eyes against it, putting himself anywhere but where he is.

“Go,” Sam whispers, eyes still closed.

“Get ready, Sam, and don’t keep him waiting.”

“ _I said go!_ ”

Sam opens his eyes and the demon gives him one more grin before it’s exiting the body in a cloud of black. The man slumps lifeless to the ground beside Dean and Sam hits the ground where he stands, head in his hands.

“Fuck,” Dean groans as he climbs to his feet. Sam hears him stomp past, back to the car. Distantly hears the trunk of the Impala squeak open and Dean rummaging around. He comes back only a few seconds later and grabs Sam by his arm, hauls him to his feet.

“We don’t have time for this shit, Sam. Grab his legs and come on.” Dean slings the duffel he grabbed from the car over his shoulder and bends to grab the body beneath the shoulders, waits for Sam to grab his feet. It takes Sam a second to move but then his legs start going and he takes up his half of the man with a grunt _bastard’s heavier than he looks_ and they make their way into the woods.

They make quick work of the body, make a half-assed pyre in the woods and Sam stares over the flames, towards the opening in the trees where he imagines the car to be and thinks about getting in it and driving to the end of everything. Dean makes sure the fire is out before he’s pushing Sam back towards the car and shoving him inside.

It takes Dean a moment to climb back into the driver’s seat and Sam assumes he’s covering whatever tracks they may have left. When he does get back in he doesn’t say anything to Sam and that’s fine. Sam has no idea what he’d reply with anyway. There’s nothing but the smell of blood in his nostrils and a strong desire to say yes.

 

It’s dark by the time they get to Pendleton, and Sam’s the one sent in to get their room key. He briefly considers getting two but decides against it. Dean’s not at fault here, and Sam doesn’t want him to think so. Sam thanks the guy behind the desk for his key, heads back outside to slide into the Impala where it idles and says _Round back, room 428_.

The room's as nondescript as they usually are, chilly from the air conditioning unit beneath the window and Sam clicks it off before toeing out of his sneakers. Dean's already at work on salting the door and windows so Sam sits at the small table, watching his brother.

"Stop staring at me," Dean mumbles, back turned to Sam as he salts the tiny square window over the sink in the bathroom. Sam fights irritation, a blush and mumbles an apology.

Dean finishes his job and tosses the empty can of salt into the duffel he has at the foot of his bed and sits to untie his boots. Sam busies himself with taking out his laptop, plugging in his cell to charge. Dean stands again, Sam watches out of the corner of his eye as his brother starts to sort the laundry, sniff testing the socks and t-shirts.

"Don't you think now would be a good time to call Cas?" Sam asks, and Dean doesn't pause in his task when he says no. "Why not?"

"We can handle this on our own."

Sam snorts at Dean, disbelieving, "Yeah, because we've done such a bang up job so far. I don't get it Dean, why don't you want to call him?"

"Because I just don't, Sam. End of story. I don't need to go running to him whenever I have a problem," Dean stops then, shoots Sam a look that's probably meant to shut him up but it doesn't.

"Right, because he hasn't been your little lapdog guardian angel since you came back from Hell."

"S'that supposed to mean?" Dean tosses the duffel of dirty laundry off to the side, starts stuffing the clothes that have another couple of wears left in them into a different bag.

"Nothing, Dean, just forget it."

Dean pauses then and looks over at Sam, eyes narrowed. "You got a problem with him, you take it up with him. It's got nothing to do with me. You think I asked for an _angel of the Lord_ to save me Sam? I'm not the one who willingly takes monsters to bed."

Sam’s on his feet now, can't help it when he rolls his eyes and he sees his brother straighten, tense up, "Are we seriously going to go over this again, Dean? How many times do you want me to apologize?"

"I don't want you to ever apologize again, Sam. I want you to _not fuck up_ so you don't have to say you're sorry."

"Oh screw you, Dean," Sam says, furious.

Dean turns towards him, hands on his hips, "You sure? I'm not dead anymore, thought that might have turned you off."

And that's really enough for Sam, he clenches his hand into a fists and swings at his brother. Dean doesn't dodge fast enough, but he does, so Sam ends up clipping him in the chin when he pulls his head back and Sam hears his knuckles crack under Dean's grunt of pain and surprise.

Dean recovers quickly though, lands a good punch to Sam's jaw but Sam shakes it off, can tell that Dean’s not even trying, kicks Dean’s legs out from under him and Sam stands over him, punches him once, twice and his fingers come back bloody.

He backs off, let’s Dean kick himself back up onto his feet and they both stand there, staring and panting harshly into the stale air around them.

Sam lunges forward, and Dean winces which makes Sam falter in his step before he grabs him by the front of his shirt, fingers wrapped in the material and dragging Dean back, turning to slam him against the wall.

The tension has been building up between them for a long time now, and Sam’s surprised they managed to keep from coming to blows this long, had expected it to happen thousands of miles ago but Dean’s changed, hasn’t he, so it shouldn’t shock him as much as it does.

“Where’s your fight, Dean?” Sam says, letting go of Dean’s shirt to bury his fingers in the short spiky hair on his brother’s head, wedges a leg between Dean’s thighs. “You can _talk_ shit though, huh?”

“Blow me,” Dean whispers, neither a request or an insult, breath warm against Sam’s face.

Sam’s grin is feral before he mashes their mouths together, Dean’s grunt of surprise egging him on. Sam bites at Dean’s lower lip, sharp nips that he soothes away with his tongue. Dean’s tense against him for half a second but Sam doesn’t relent and eventually he can feel Dean relax against him, Dean’s hands coming to fist into the fabric at his hips.

Sam pulls away, chuckles as Dean’s mouth follows him, at Dean’s glare. He starts tugging at his clothes, Dean catching on a second or two later and it’s no time at all before they’re naked. Sam grabs Dean by his arm, tugs and Dean falls forward, growls out a protest but Sam ignores him and shoves him onto one of the beds.

Sam stands over him, staring down and taking in the sight of having his brother laid out there again, all for him. Dean starts to squirm after too long, red spreading out over his chest and up his neck, settles in his cheeks. He starts to sit up, to swing his legs off the bed and Sam has to quickly move to push him back down again.

“Get on with it,” Dean growls up at him.

“Yeah, okay,” and Sam grabs some lube from his duffel before crawling onto the bed to sit between Dean‘s spread legs. His brother is still gorgeous, though Sam finds he misses the scars when he runs his hands along Dean’s body, when he gets a hand under Dean and flips him onto his belly and strokes his back. Every bump and ridge of scar is gone, and while the unmarred body is beautiful Sam can’t help but think about their history being erased.

Dean gets up on his knees, looks over his shoulder at Sam, annoyance mixed with arousal and impatience in his eyes. Sam uncaps the lube, squirts it straight from the bottle and onto Dean’s back, his brother jerks in surprise _son of a bitch_ and Sam laughs lightly. Tossing the bottle towards the top of the bed, he runs his fingers through the slick, coating them enough and not wasting anymore time he traces one finger around his brother‘s hole before pushing in and Dean grunts, pushes back onto Sam‘s fingers.

Sam slips in another, scissors and crooks them, holds on tightly to Dean’s thigh as his brother rocks back and forth, fucking himself on Sam’s fingers. Dean’s cock hangs heavy between his legs and Sam just wants to taste. Inserting another finger he does a thorough but quick job of opening his brother up and then he’s flipping Dean on his back again.

“Stop _manhandling_ me,” Dean says through gritted teeth, but the effect is ruined by the flush on his cheeks, making his freckles stand out. His lips are swollen, bits of dried blood on his nose from Sam punching him and it should make Sam feel guilty. It should.

Sam kisses away anymore protests, nips his way down Dean’s jaw line, his chest, wraps his hand around Dean’s cock where it lays hot and hard against his belly. Sam remembers just what Dean likes, like riding a bike or holding a gun it all comes back to him in a flick of his wrist. He has Dean arching off the bed, precome leaking steadily and Sam moves in for a taste, laves his tongue around the head before swallowing him down. He sucks, cheeks hollowing and Dean’s hands tangle in Sam’s hair, tugging sharply and it makes Sam up his efforts. Dean’s always been won over by a good blowjob and Sam knows exactly what he’s doing, exactly where to press his tongue to get Dean to moan unashamed and needy. It was so easy learning all the little places on his brother’s body when they first started doing this. Nights spent in motel rooms like this one, the backseat of the Impala, pressing Dean down and making him, for a little while, ignore everything but what he was feeling. He wants to be able to do that again, to make Dean forget.

Dean doesn’t last long, a few tugs as Sam runs his tongue along Dean’s shaft, fingers of his free hand pressing against the sensitive area behind his balls and he sucks him down one last time, just in time for Dean to shout, coming down Sam’s throat. Sam swallows around him, gets down as much as he can and when he slips off of Dean he drags a finger through the come on his chin, brings it to Dean’s mouth and groaning when his brother licks it clean. It makes Sam impossibly harder, full lips wrapped around his finger, and he can feel his dick twitch against his belly.

He grabs the lube again, Dean boneless beneath him and Sam slicks up his cock, presses two fingers quick inside to make sure Dean’s still prepared enough and then he’s entering his brother again, finally. Sam wants to make it last, he really does, but all of that tight heat around him is making it impossible. Dean’s getting hard again between them and Sam reaches down, takes Dean in hand to jerk him to full hardness, careful not to be too rough on his over stimulated cock. Sam slows his pace a bit, pulls out until his cock head is catching on the rim of Dean’s ass and then he’s pushing in even slower, angling his hips until he’s hitting Dean’s prostate on every thrust. Dean’s restraining himself, and Sam doesn’t like that, wants to hear Dean scream but that can wait for another time, when they’ve got more time and Sam doesn’t just want to come.

Sam leans over to kiss his brother when he feels his orgasm approaching, hips stuttering and two, three thrusts later he’s spilling hot inside Dean, moaning into his mouth. Dean falls over the edge again right after, cock spilling over his belly, slicking the skin between them. Sam rests his forehead against Dean’s chest as he comes down, panting heavily, smiling into the skin there when he feels Dean’s fingers carding through his sweat-damp hair.

When he’s calmed down enough he slips completely out of his brother, falls to the side with an _unf_ and lays there, sated, looking at Dean.

“You’re staring again,” Dean says, eyes closed and Sam can tell halfway to sleep.

“Yeah,” Sam kisses him soundly on the mouth before he gets up and pads into the bathroom to wet a rag with warm water, cleans himself up and rinses the washcloth out before going back into the bedroom to give Dean a once over with it. They’re going to need a shower but that can wait, Sam’s nearly dead on his feet. He tosses the rag back into the bathroom, lowers the covers on the extra bed and then tugs Dean to his feet. He mumbles a half-hearted protest but allows Sam to shove him over and beneath the sheets before Sam climbs in next to him.

They’ll need to talk about it, at some point, but Sam’s too tired and too happy to care about that awkward. Maybe tomorrow or maybe a long time from then. He turns on his side, nose buried against Dean’s neck and inhales Dean’s scent, sweat and sex, Dean and _alive_ and that’s the only thing he really needs to know right now.

Dean’s snoring loudly beside him, and Sam lets himself sleep.

 

Sam jerks awake next morning to Dean kicking the door shut, to his _rise and shine, Sammy_ and his good mood. He's whistling for God's sake and Sam smothers a smile into the pillow beneath his head. The smell of coffee finally rouses him enough to stretch, stumble out of the bed and over to the table where Dean's got styrofoam containers full of eggs and bacon and toast. The eat in companionable silence, Dean spearing Sam's hand with his plastic fork when he tries to steal his brother's last piece of bacon, doesn't protest when he licks the flavor from his mouth instead.

After a shower and a failed attempt to calm his bed head they're packing up, checking and rechecking that they've gotten everything and then they're heading off down the 84. It'll bring them into Idaho, and then they'll cut through Montana until they finally get to North Dakota.

The interstate is mildly trafficked at this time of day but Sam knows once rush hour starts and people wake up to start their day, once that day ends and everyone starts trying to get home before they have to turn around and do it all over again things will slow down. But for now they're making good time, Dean weaving around and past the few random cars that get in his way. Sam pokes around on his iPod, trying to drown out AC/DC because there's only so much of Brian Johnson one person can take but it's not working as well as he'd like. There's mostly trees whizzing by but every now and again there's a break from them; trees giving way to plowed open fields to billboards and on one instance a massive red-brick prison with a giant barbed wire fence running the length of the property.

Giving up on the iPod he turns it off and tosses it into the backseat before settling down, knees banging into the dashboard. Dean thankfully turns the radio down to a reasonable volume and Sam smiles gratefully at him. He watches the scenery pass through hooded eyes.

"What do you think we're like those other places?" Dean asks, jerking Sam out of his comfortable haze.

"Huh?"

Dean fidgets in his seat, hands gripping the wheel a little tighter. "Through the Thinny thing, the other universes. I wonder what we're like over there."

"Oh," Sam says. "I don't know. Maybe like with the Djinn? You're probably mowing a lawn right now."

Dean grins, "Y'think?" Sam nods, smiles back at him and Dean doesn't say anything else for a minute or two, then, "You think we're together? Over there?"

"Definitely," Sam doesn't even hesitate when he answers because he just knows. "No getting rid of me, no matter what universe it is."

That answer seems to please Dean and he goes back to driving, smiles lightly and Sam watches him for a minute, smiling himself. He thinks there might be something else Dean wants to say or ask but he doesn't push, not wanting to break the companionable atmosphere they've finally gotten themselves into. He knows Dean's worried about things though, and he wants to reassure him somehow. He used to know just what to do to calm his brother down but he doesn't think those old standby's would work anymore. He reaches over and squeezes his brother's thigh, though. Leaves his hand there to seep comfort into Dean's skin.

Sam shifts in his seat an hour later, ass aching and knees numb from the cramped space. The Impala’s always been his home, a reliable haven when they’ve always needed it most, but damn if he doesn’t wish it were just a little bigger.

The trees have thinned where they are now, rolling through Idaho it’s mostly just opened fields, tall green grasses swaying from the wind and the occasional cow grazing at it. The billboards have gone from towering above them on metal stands to those that are set back further off the road, the ones that look like old drive-in screens, advertisements for local dentists and moving companies fading and peeling from the sun and age.

There’s a logging truck in front of them, weighted down with trees, its emergency flashers blinking yellow and red triangle flags billowing behind it. It’s going about 40, taking up most of the lane so there’s no way Dean can go around. Dean frowns while Sam tries not to imagine those tiny strips of nylon holding them down breaking and a trunk projectiling through the windshield.

“Damn it,” Dean swears.

“It’s fine, we’ve got time, Dean,” even though Sam knows they don’t. They’d have even less time if Dean got them run off the road, though. There’s nobody behind them to worry about either, so, “Just relax, we’ll get there.”

Dean pouts anyway and Sam grins before turning to watch the scenery go by. There’s another billboard coming up, Sam can see it through the trees but can’t quite make out what it is. When they get close enough he sees it’s all black with red lettering spelling out North Central Positronics, NCP directly underneath. There’s something about it pinging familiar for Sam and he grabs hold of Dean’s arm, turns backwards in his seat to watch it fade behind them.

“Dude, go back,” Sam says and Dean looks at him like he’s lost his mind.

“What?”

“Go _back_ , Dean.”

Dean doesn’t say anything else, just throws the car in reverse and backs up until Sam tells him to stop. Sam stares up at the giant black billboard, drawing a blank.

“Where have I seen that?”

“D’no, Sam. I haven’t.”

Sam replays the last few days, the last couple of weeks, anything he can remember that might stand out to him but he doesn’t remember anything about North Central Positronics.

And then it _clicks_.

“The demon.”

“Huh?”

“The demon we hit? He was wearing a black polo shirt, probably company issued, with NCP stitched in the corner.” Sam’s practically vibrating from having figured it out and he grins at Dean triumphantly.

“So what is this North Central Posi-whatever?”

Sam deflates at that, shrugs. “I don’t know, I think we have to figure that out, though. I mean what are the odds that we would run into him and then see this billboard? And you said he just popped out of nowhere.”

Dean looks thoughtful for a minute before he nods, says, “We’ll figure it out, once we get to Bobby’s you can do that research-y thing you do,” Sam nods and Dean slaps him on the thigh, _Good job, Geek boy_ and then he’s throwing the car back into drive and taking them to Bobby’s.

 

 

North Central Positronics is a large, clinical building. Every inch seemed to be covered in a mirrored window that reflected the sun brighter than it actually was. Inside it was hospital white, floor walls ceiling, the people milling around in white lab coats. It makes Sam feel uncomfortable, he and Dean road weary and filthy from a lifetime of grave digging stand out in the reception area when they step through the revolving doors.

The young woman behind the desk doesn’t seem to care, just looks up and offers them a smile, a _how can I help you?_

“Hello,” Sam offers a small smile back, “We’re Sam and Dean Winchester? We have an appointment to meet with a Dr. Clive.”

The woman, Carolyn as the white name tag attached to her lapel tells Sam, flips through an itinerary in front of her before stopping and nodding.

“Of course, Mr. Winchester,” she hands them both a pair of badges to slip over their necks. “You can just go right on in.”

She tells them which way to go, _down the hall to the left and take the stares, can’t miss it_ and Sam thanks her before they set off in the direction she points. There are doors lining the hallway but they’re all closed, windowless so they have no idea what’s going on in the rooms. Even when the people come in and out they make sure to keep the door close behind them so they can’t peer in and it makes Sam a little apprehensive, not knowing what‘s going on.

When they’d gotten to Bobby’s a month ago, after leaving Washington, Sam had immediately hopped onto his computer. North Central Positronics wasn’t difficult to find, their website an easy to navigate black and red explaining all of its technological advancements. _The World’s Fastest Monorail!_ seems to be their latest project, boasting speeds Sam doesn’t believe are possible. What catches Sam’s eye though are the robotics. The gallery is full of pictures, mechanical flies that look real until you hit the zoom option and see all the wiring, remote controlled appliances, cyborgs. On page fifteen, between the latest vacuum and the must have garage gadget Sam finds the animals.

And Bobby is a really good shit talker when he needs to be.

The double doors at the end of the stairs open up into a large room. There are people hunched over lab and drafting tables working on projects, noises from power drills and hammer mix in with the quiet murmurs from the scientists. Dean reaches out and taps one of them on the shoulder, asks for Clive and gets pointed towards a table in the far corner.

The man at this station is working on a tall, lanky robot and he looks up at them when they approach, eyes flicking to the badges around their neck before he smiles at them.

“Dr. Clive?” Dean asks when they come to a stop at the table.

“Not doctor, just Clive.”

The robot turns, top swivels first, then followed by the bottom half.

“And you are?” It doesn’t sound mechanical at all when it speaks and Sam’s pretty impressed by it. He’s heard those automated answering systems that are used from telemarketers and 411 and the robot is as close to human as Sam’s ever heard.

“Dean,” Dean holds his hand out to shake to the man behind the robot, who’d gone back to his task. The guy takes it, but offers Dean an odd look. “And Sam Winchester. We’re here to talk to you about the request we put in?”

“Not here to talk to me, son,” the man says, gives the robot a pointed look.

Dean snorts, says, “ _You’re_ Clive?” and the robot nods.

“I am, Clive #4, Lead of Robotics. Most of my kind have other functions,” the robot says sadly. “I do not.”

“Right. Sam?”

Sam looks at Dean, mouth agape, looking confused. He swallows thickly and turns on his understanding face. “You’re the lead of an entire department though, that’s probably not something the other robots can say, is it?”

“Actually it is.”

“Oh.”

“ _Anyway_ ,” Dean starts, giving Sam a weird look who just shrugs back. “We were hoping to see what kind of progress has been made.”

“Of course, follow me Winchesters.”

The robot swivels again, his joints making creaking noises as he walks. He leads them to a large stand, with an even larger sheet covering something.

“He’s not completed, but we’re working tirelessly to have him finished within the timeline you’ve given us. We’ve got our best men on the job,” Clive tells them before he reaches up and pulls down the sheet.

On the platform is a replica of Shardik, Sam and Dean both gasping, taking a step back (not in fear, of course, more like manly awe if anyone ever asks). Half of his body is covered in fur while the other still has it’s metal work and screws and wires showing.

“Holy shit,” Dean swears, steps up to touch the fur covering the mechanical bear’s feet.

“Indeed,” Clive says, dropping the sheet to the floor and turning to lead them to another table. This one has rows of cages, all filled with rabbits.

“This one,” Clive points to the last cage on the table, white rabbit nosing around the newspaper beneath its feet, “is the replica. I am quite proud of it, you can hardly tell the difference.”

Sam has to agree. While Shardik is pretty impressive only half finished, the rabbit looks and moves exactly like a real animal, the only difference is the distinguishable clicking sound it’s making every time it moves.

Dean bends, sticks his finger through the bars of the cage to scritch the rabbit’s chin and the thing’s ears twitch. Its mechanical eyes buzz in their sockets as he swivels them up to look at Dean, calculatingly blank. Sam leaves him to it and trails after Clive who’s stopped a few tables away murmuring with a scientist who’s holding a patch of fur in one hand and a tangled mass of wires in the other.

The other guardians will be replicated when or if the time comes. With Vic and his grandfather’s help they now know the magic, they just need the bodies to go with it. They don’t know if it will be a temporary or permanent fix but it’s a start and that’s all they need.

Dean hisses a swear and comes up behind Sam, sucking the tip of his finger into his mouth.

“The little bastard bit me,” he says.

“Do you usually go around poking wild animals, Dean Winchester?” Clive asks. Sam snorts at the dark look Dean shoots the robot after he turns his attention back to the fur on the table.

They thank Clive an hour later and head back out to the Impala. There is still an apocalypse brewing, still things that need to be done no matter how matters are coming along at North Central Positronics and they can’t afford to slack off.

“I can’t believe we just had a conversation with a robot,” Dean says as he climbs into the Impala.

“I know.”

“Our lives are freakin’ weird, Sam.”

“I know,” Sam grins over at him.

“Seriously.”

 

_“So much you did; So much you did and so much more you would have done, aye, and all without a check or qualm, and so will the world end, I think, a victim of love rather than hate. For love's ever been the more destructive weapon, sure.”_


End file.
